


Galatea

by hotbitchshit69



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: Eventual Romance, Murder, Violence, no pre planning we die like men, tags will be added as the story goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:00:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29300775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotbitchshit69/pseuds/hotbitchshit69
Summary: "I am the sculptor, a modern Pygmalion, and he is my masterpiece."ORFrankenstein meets Pygmalion except it's a Creepypasta fanfiction.(MASC READER)
Relationships: Creepypasta/Original Character(s), Creepypasta/Reader
Kudos: 4





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> hi there! this is the version of galatea with masculine pronouns (he/him). if you would like to read the version with feminine pronouns, click [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28966488/chapters/71082510). if you would like to read the version with gender neutral pronouns, click [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29343093/chapters/72072900). thanks!
> 
> first time using ao3, hurray!  
> this isn't my first time writing a creepypasta fanfiction, however. it's been a few years though. i'd drop my old wattpad if it wasn't deleted.  
> anyway, i'm really sorry if my character interpretations don't fit your expectations. they aren't meant to be realistic at all. i was introduced to these guys when i was relatively young, so their personalities will likely stem from how i saw them then.  
> anyway, i'm just going to jump right into it, and i'll see you at the end of this chapter!

He didn't know where he was going. He didn't know where he could go. Hell, he didn't even know where he was. All he knew was that he needed to get away from where he had been. 

The forest was cold and quiet, dead leaves carpeting the forest floor in a sea of murky brown. He toed his way through the dying foliage, feet numb in his mud-caked slippers. The sun shone down on him like a spotlight, leaving him feeling exposed. Though the hood of his windbreaker was up, it didn't do much in the way of covering his face. He didn't like that, but it wasn't as if the woods were bustling with people. He was alone, and he hoped that it would stay that way.

There was a pale blue backpack slung over his shoulder, weighing him down. He could have ditched it, and the further he traveled the more inclined he was to drop it, but he couldn't leave it behind. Everything he needed to know was in that bag, and he couldn't live without it. Not properly, anyway. He knew that it would hurt him too much in the future if he'd given up the one opportunity he had to know who he really was.

It had been three days since he'd last slept, and he was exhausted. But as much as he might've missed his bed and a warm place to stay, he was not going back. He  _ couldn't _ go back. The cabin was a place of lies and secrets and death. It was a gravesite. He wanted no part of it.

The leaves on the ground crunched with every step that he took, the noise satisfying his ears in a way that only a few things could. He had always been fond of late autumn – at least, he thought he was. It was odd how he knew what he liked and disliked yet couldn't remember a thing about his life before he'd woken up. He couldn't even remember experiencing his own death. It had come to him in nightmares once or twice, but those had disappeared from his memory entirely, only appearing in fleeting moments of déjà vu. 

In a way, not knowing was refreshing. He had the freedom to be who he wanted to, unrestricted by the binds of his past!

Oh, who was he fucking kidding.

The bag on his back bounced rhythmically. It strained his shoulder. He didn't know why a bunch of books were so heavy. Perhaps, he mused, it was the things that the books contained that made them so heavy to him, and not the books themselves. Obscure symbolism, mental strain, whatever. No matter what it was, the bag was still heavy, and he found himself growing weary the more he thought about it.

He took deep breaths as he walked, the cold air chilling his lungs uncomfortably. The forest smelled dully sweet, like some sort of sap, and pine. Under any other circumstances, he'd be appreciating the woods around him, taking in nature as it got ready for its yearly rest. As macabre as it might've been, he found it calming to watch the leaves turn. Everything was quiet as it wound down, eventually falling asleep for the winter. He enjoyed that feeling, the freedom of being alone, tainted as it might be by the creeping paranoia that had haunted him since he'd left the cabin.

The sun inched slowly down the horizon, the sky turning all kinds of delicious oranges and yellows that satisfied his brain. It also worried him; the sunset would only bring the chilly, unforgiving blanket of the night. He didn't think that he would be able to make it through the cold for another night. He might not have been anything like a human, but he did know that the cold bothered him like it would anyone else. He would not die, but he would most definitely freeze.

He cursed himself for not bringing better coverage, but deep down he knew that he couldn't have risked grabbing anything more than what he quite literally had on his back. He had left the house in a panicked frenzy and he wasn't thinking straight. He hadn't even picked up a weapon.

When that realization hit him, he cursed aloud. No warmth, no food, and no means of defending himself. He was roadkill, dead meat walking. Well, technically he was already dead meat walking. He didn't like that thought at all, but he was reminded every time he looked at his bluish patchwork skin. He hated himself, what he had become.

He didn't have time to dwell on that, though, because the first stars were glimmering in the sky that was now a darkening purple. He thought about making a wish, wanting it all to be a dream; he wanted to wake up the next morning in a warm, familiar bed, and a bedroom that he'd decorated himself. He wanted so desperately to be home, but he didn't know what home was. Did he even have one?

A glimmering in the distance caught his eye, and at first, he thought it was just stars, or maybe the moon. But when he squinted to get a better look, he realized that the light was not small or organic enough to be stars, boxy spots through the trees lined in neat rows. His breath caught, and he realized that it was a building. It appeared to be several stories high from what he could see through the trees, and he could smell smoke, from a fire, maybe? Or a fireplace. The thought of warmth and comfort tempted him closer to the building, but he stopped when he realized the situation that he was in.

A building meant people, and people meant community and help, but that also meant that he might end up dead, or worse, an experiment or a specimen, or-

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't hear the leaves crunch behind him, or the gun cock, or the shot that echoed through the trees around him. The next thing he knew, he was on his knees, looking down at the prominent hole in his chest. His ears were ringing, and his head swam, but not because of any pain that he could feel. He was so taken aback, and so, so terrified.

It wasn't blood loss that knocked him out, or even the shock from staring at the wound, though the latter might have done it eventually. In the end, it was the butt of his attacker's handgun smashing against the back of his head that changed everything he'd ever known.

Welcome to your new life, [Y/N].


	2. A MASKED MAN AND A SHITTY HOSPITAL GOWN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Y/N] wakes up to his new normal. It's... weird. But it could be worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi there!
> 
> so this is the first official chapter of this fic. it's around 2.8k words in google docs, and i have to admit that i'm proud of it.
> 
> please note that this chapter is not proofread (yet). if you find any errors please point them out to me. i'm looking to edit and then post this chapter to both other versions of the fic by tomorrow night if possible.
> 
> and i'd like to really quickly thank the people that have read and left kudos on this fic. it genuinely means so much to me that people have enjoyed my work! you guys have no idea.
> 
> please make sure to read the end notes! they're important :)

[Y/N] was awake.

He didn't remember when he woke up. Things got dark when he fell unconscious, and then it was bright, and then he realized he was staring up at a buzzing fluorescent light that turned his surroundings a yellowy white. The air around him hung with the faint smell of mold and the stronger stench of peroxide. He had never been to a hospital before, at least not to his own knowledge, but this would have been what he thought it smelled like.

[Y/N] was on a bed that was not his own, the mattress hard against his already sore back and the sheets too thin to keep him from shivering. Still, he felt oddly comfortable, and so he lay there for a few minutes, unblinking and not registering where he was. He appreciated his sleepy stupor, and he welcomed the oblivious haze that just waking up had brought him. Then, he remembered everything, much too fast.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, revisiting the days prior to his assault at night. He’d... run away, from that stupid, shitty cabin and the stupid shitty man that lived in it. Just thinking about him made [Y/N] want to retch. He was a liar and a cheater, and he was the only one who knew why and how he existed the way he did. Unfortunately, as much as [Y/N] wanted to spend his time sending bitter, angry thoughts his way, he had to get his bearings. 

He was in the woods, right? Yes, he was in the woods, with his bag of books, and he was running, except he couldn't run anymore, so he was walking. And it was cold. Oh, it was so very cold, and he couldn't continue, but that didn't stop him. How long had he been walking? Three days? Three whole days making a useless trek through his own personal hell left alone to his own thoughts and paranoia.

But then he found a building, a mansion? Or maybe a hotel or a lodge of some sort, but it looked warm and welcoming. He’d wanted to go inside, he remembered. He wanted help, and home, and someone who actually cared about him. And then-  _ oh  _ . Right. He got shot.

[Y/N] blinked at the paneled ceiling, trying to register that fact. He was shot, right where his heart was, but he was alive and well. How was that possible? How was  _ he  _ possible? He had so many unanswered questions, and things just kept on getting more and more confusing. It was frustrating, yes, but also incredibly terrifying.

And now, here he was, in a place that he did not recognize. That raised another question – where the hell even  _ was  _ he?

Slowly, he sat upright, and he became aware of the dull throb in the back of his head and the nerves in his chest screaming. The pain didn't necessarily bother him the way it would bother anyone that was normal, however it did annoy him, and he had to shift to get a bit more comfortable. [Y/N] pushed the thin white sheets off of his body, noticing the questionable dark stains on the fabric. He found himself mildly disgusted and then realized that whatever weird blotches there might've been on the shitty sheets were the least of his problems. Well, the least of his problems for the time being, anyway. 

Looking down at himself, he saw that he wore not the t-shirt and flannel pajama pants that he’d been traveling in, but a faded blue hospital gown peppered in dark polka dots. He felt a bit nauseous at the thought of someone undressing and redressing him, not because he was worried someone would take advantage of him, but because he felt that anyone would be repulsed at the ugly quilt of flesh that his body was.

A quick look down his shirt told him that his gunshot wound had been bandaged and probably stitched up. He assumed the same for the entrance wound on his back. He was grateful for that, at least, but this still pushed the biggest question he had: Who would help him? And why?

[Y/N] looked around at his surroundings. His sleepy subconscious had told him that he was in some sort of medical environment, and that observation seemed to be correct. To his left, there was something akin to a kitchen countertop lining the walls. There were cabinets both above and below it, as well as a sink. Next to the countertop, on the wall across from [Y/N], was a tall gray door with one of those metal knobs that you only really see in places like public schools and office buildings.

To the left of the bed, there was a tray with medical tools laid out neatly on it. He recognized them from the cabin's basement: A syringe, scissors, tweezers, several scalpels. The worries about being experimented on resurfaced in [Y/N]'s mind, but they quickly subsided. If he were being kept hostage he’d be tied down, probably in someplace clean and high-tech, and he probably would have been kept under strict surveillance. This sorry excuse for an infirmary was far from a government-funded research project, and there didn't seem to be any nosey scientists or security cameras in sight.

Once again, he was left confused. If he wasn't being experimented on, then what was going on? Where the hell was he? There weren't any answers in sight. The only answers he could've had were in that goddamn bag, and even they couldn't have helped him in this situa-

Oh, shit.

Another wave of panic hit him. The bullet must've gone through the bag. The notebooks could've been shredded for all he knew. Where even were the books? He didn't see them anywhere in the musty infirmary. Someone had taken them, maybe, or maybe they were still in the woods, being ruined by weather and eaten by animals. [Y/N] began to hyperventilate, his chest heaving with each shallow, scratchy breath he took. His hands gripped the sheets so hard that if he had any blood his knuckles would have turned white. He needed to know, it was the only way, he couldn't go back, he couldn't see him again. He knew he would kill her, or worse.

In the midst of her panicked thoughts, the door to the infirmary squealed on its hinges as it opened, and a towering figure stepped inside, holding something. [Y/N]'s panic became something new: fear.

The figure was clad in black from head to toe. [Y/N] couldn't tell if he'd noticed him or not because the man’s face was covered with a bright blue mask that contrasted with his entire outfit. A questionable black liquid dripped from the seemingly bottomless eye holes in the mask. The man's(?) footfalls were heavy as he stepped over to the countertop to set down whatever he'd carried in with him. He seemed to ignore [Y/N] completely, moving things from the counter into the cabinets to make enough space. He was so tall that he didn't even have to strain to reach the top shelf of the upper cabinets. The man seemed so invested in moving shit around that [Y/N] actually started to think that if he stayed completely still the man would forget about him and leave. He was utterly terrified of this masked figure and did  _ not  _ want to interact with him, no matter what kind of explanation he could provide.

Unfortunately, his hopes were crushed when the guy turned around. He did it slowly and nonchalantly; he knew [Y/N] was there. Well, no shit he knew he was there. But he wasn't surprised or angry to see him, or at least, it didn't seem like it? He'd turned around as if he knew him, like he was his doctor or something, and was about to give him news about his condition. [Y/N] didn't know why he was overanalyzing the way the dude turned around. Perhaps it was because it was the only way he could explain the situation to himself. And then the person spoke, and [Y/N] stopped thinking completely.

"Feeling well-rested?"

His voice was deep, sort of raspy, yet almost soothing, and not at all how [Y/N] expected him to sound. [Y/N] inhaled sharply, doing his best not to make too much noise. He didn't say anything, and instead simply stared at the person across the room from him like a deer in headlights. It was a simple question, of course, but that was sort of what had taken him aback. The circumstances that had brought him into the care of this person (if he even  _ was  _ a person) were far from normal, [Y/N] was far from normal, and the man that was now leaning against the counter was definitely far from normal. The mask told [Y/N] that much.

"Not talking, huh?" The guy tilted his head slightly, and [Y/N] pictured whatever quizzical expression he wore under the mask. "I can understand that. I'm not going to press you about much. I thought I'd have to shock you awake." He gestured to the thing that he'd brought into the room with him. It looked like some piece of machinery that was heavily modified with several pieces of wire and scrap metal. There were two longer wires hanging from the box, each with metal clips on the end.

"That's what the bolts on your neck are for, I'm assuming?" Mask Dude, as [Y/N] had dubbed the man in his head, gestured towards [Y/N] with a gloved hand, and he noticed with a dreadful thought that his fingers looked abnormally long. Mask Dude was pointing at the metal bolts on either side of [Y/N]'s neck. Without thinking, he nodded once in confirmation. When it came to how his body worked, that was about the extent of what he knew.

Mask Dude mirrored the action and then continued speaking without missing a beat. "So, I've stitched up both the entrance wound and exit wound. You should be dead, but I think you know that anyway. There wasn’t much I could do about your head. I didn’t find anything there and judging by the uh, lack of blood coming from your bullet wound, I don’t think there’s any internal bleeding.”

He looked at [Y/N] for a moment, as if waiting for him to say something. When he didn’t, Mask Dude continued speaking, recommending ways to quell whatever pain he might’ve been in. In a way, [Y/N] was sort of right about him being a doctor-figure. Apparently, he’d been the one to stitch him up and get him in working order, for lack of a better phrase. [Y/N] was grateful for that, and also still shocked by the kindness offered to him by this terrifying stranger.

“-any questions?”

[Y/N] blinked, snapping out of his dazed thoughts to look at Mask Dude. He had  _ so  _ many questions, he didn’t even know where to start. Was he the one who shot him? Where was his bag? Where was he? Why did he help him? Who was he?

[Y/N] didn’t exactly want to speak, but sacrifices had to be made in order to get information. This guy seemed pretty willing to be cooperative and help [Y/N] out, so there probably wasn’t any harm in trying to get some answers about his situation. Perhaps [Y/N] had found someplace he could stay, at least for a while.

“No..?” Mask Dude once again pulled [Y/N] back to reality. He pictured him quirking an eyebrow at him under his mask, and then took a deep breath, slightly loosening his iron grip on the thin bedsheets.

“Where-” [Y/N] croaked, suddenly painfully aware of how thirsty he was. He didn’t really  _ need  _ to drink water, but it certainly helped when it came to talking out loud. He coughed for a second, Mask Dude not moving from his spot across the room. When he finally felt that his throat was lubricated enough for him to form proper sentences, [Y/N] tried again.

“Wh-Where am I?”

[Y/N] stumbled over his words, partly because of nerves and partly because he hadn’t said anything in at least three days. His voice was scratchy and dry, and at that moment he hated it almost as much as he hated his physical appearance.

“Where are you?” Mask Dude echoed, appearing about as thoughtful as he could with his mask hiding his expression. For a moment [Y/N] worried that even  _ he  _ didn’t know where he was, but then he continued speaking.

“You’re in a sort of safe haven for people that, er, aren’t quite normal, to put it generously,” He nodded as if confirming his own statement. [Y/N] sensed that there was a lot more to it than that. “I don’t really want to elaborate too much, since Slender’ll fill you in on all that. He had us take you in for a reason.”

“Slender..?” [Y/N] tilted his head. What kind of name was Slender? Was he the guy who ran this place? He assumed she’d meet the guy eventually, so he just asked the next question on his mind. “Who are you?”

Mask Dude didn’t say anything for a minute. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and he seemed to be contemplating what to say. Finally, albeit a bit dryly, he introduced himself. “I’m Jack. Call me EJ.”

EJ? His name could be weirder, [Y/N] shrugged mentally, though he did wonder what the E in his alias stood for. He wouldn’t press it, he decided. Names sometimes were a sensitive subject, and Mask Dude- _ EJ  _ seemed like he didn’t hate [Y/N]. He didn’t want to ruin the acquaintanceship, especially since EJ had implied there were other people outside of the room they were in. 

EJ tilted his head at [Y/N] expectantly, flexing his abnormally long fingers. Right, they were still on about questions. Taking a deep breath, [Y/N] asked, “Were you the one that shot me?”

They stared at each other for a moment, and EJ shook his head. He seemed to be laughing quietly. “Hell no. Guns aren’t my thing. I find scalpels more efficient and precise. Leaves less of a mess.”

If [Y/N] could go pale, he would have. What? Scalpels? Efficient? What the hell was he on about? He was beginning to get a very bad feeling about wherever he was. Was EJ talking about what [Y/N] thought he was talking about? He silently prayed to whatever god that might have been out there that the creepy masked guy was just on about weird hunting tactics and not homicide. Then again, now that [Y/N] thought about it, he did kind of look like your textbook serial killer. 

_ Jesus Christ, am I trapped in some sort of hellhole murder house!? _

[Y/N] pushed the thought aside quickly, deciding he would talk now and worry later. If he  _ was  _ in a murder house, he wasn’t dead or being tortured. Things seemed to be going in his favor.

EJ’s voice brought [Y/N] out of his worrying for the third time. “The guy who  _ did  _ shoot you is a bit of an asshole. If you run into him, don’t expect him to apologize. He’ll probably just ignore you.”

Wow, that certainly made [Y/N] feel better about getting shot. The guy must’ve been an asshole if he didn’t care to apologize to someone after pumping their guts full of lead. Or maybe he was just a serial killer. That worry definitely still gnawed at [Y/N]’s subconscious.

“Now, uh, assuming you don’t have anything else you want to ask me, I was told to take you up to see Slender once you woke up. You kind of have to do that if you want to stay here.” EJ stood up a bit straighter, getting ready to leave the room.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” [Y/N] said, instinctively swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing up. Since he’d been bedridden, he stumbled and nearly fell, not used to walking. EJ made no move to help him. Weird.

Grimacing, [Y/N] noticed that his feet were bare, and the hospital gown didn’t do much in the way of covering anything below his knees. He frowned, too embarrassed about it to ask if there were any clothes that he could wear. He doubted it; the clothes that he had before he got shot were in rough shape from his trek through the forest, and there had to be a massive hole in his t-shirt.

“You ready?” EJ asked expectantly, as if [Y/N] were about to go on a terrifying adventure and not a hopefully short walk through whatever kind of building he was in. In a way, [Y/N] thought, it was kind of a terrifying adventure. He didn’t know who (or what) they would run into on their way to wherever this Slender character spent his time. Maybe he was just psyching himself out. He hoped that that was the case.

With a sigh, [Y/N] nodded. EJ stepped over to pull the heavy-looking door open, and into the hallway they ventured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> i know it's a bit boring, but like i said there's still some basis that i need to set and there's also some worldbuilding i'm looking to do.
> 
> i also want to let you know i've made a twitter account! it has the same handle as my ao3 account. if people end up following it, i'll post whenever i update this fic on there, even if it is just one person looking for updates.
> 
> if you enjoyed, i heavily encourage you to leave kudos haha. it means a lot to me.
> 
> that's all! i'll have the next chapters out hopefully within a week or so.

**Author's Note:**

> sloppy prologue, i know. i just needed a decent basis. this was originally going to be a full chapter but honestly i couldn't bear doing that much stalling.  
> any guesses as to who might've shot you? also, let me know if you have feedback! i'm not looking for direct criticism, as this is just something i'm doing for fun, but if you guys have any ideas or suggestions let me know! if anyone is actually reading this, that is.


End file.
